


Undyne tries to get you to come to bed

by morefishplease



Series: Comfy Fish Stories [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cute, F/M, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 09:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10568463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morefishplease/pseuds/morefishplease
Summary: What it says in the title. Due to having originally been written and posted for a different site most of my stories' titles are just descriptions of the story, and I'm too lazy to make up meaningful titles for everything.





	

You look at the clock and sigh. The pile of papers in front of you on the desk hasn't seemed to get any smaller, despite working methodically through them for the better part of three hours. It's one now, and you can already feel how tired you'll be in the morning. If you get distracted by, for example, looking at the clock, you can feel yourself start to drift away, and if you weren't focused you'd probably fall asleep in your chair. A massage of the bridge of your nose, a rub of the eyes, and you lean forward, glare at the stack speculatively. "I'll get through half," you tell yourself, "then I'll go to bed." And with that delirious ultimatum echoing in your ears, you pick up the paper on top and start reading. Soon you're engrossed entirely.

If you weren't as focused, you would notice the door open and close softly behind you. You'd hear the pad of near-silent feet cross the carpet and stop just behind your chair. You'd smell a soft, sweet, peppery smell start to fill the room - but your overlooking of this last clue isn't so egregious, everything smells like pepper and sugar now, you've gotten so used to it since you moved in.

You feel a soft weight on the back of your chair, tilting you backwards, and Undyne bobs her head down just next to yours. Her finned ear brushes the back of your head and she presses herself into you. Your cheekbones touch; her skin is very soft and slick and clean-feeling, like a piece of oilcloth. She's blazing hot - always is, something about her biology makes her run hotter than a normal human would, and the heat is nice, like a big teddy bear cozying next to you. She wraps one arm around your chest and kisses the side of your neck. Her teeth brush against your skin and you twitch, blink, put down the paper.

"Hey," Undyne whispers. Her voice is low and raw and throaty and curls around you like a whip. "I was going to head to bed," she says. She'd been out in the living room for the past two hours after she'd come home, reading a magazine, sipping tea, and waiting for you to get done working.

"Okay," you mumble, one eye still fixed on the papers before you. You're already adding up points for the half of the first one you'd gotten through - a low A, you're thinking. Undyne's eyes cut across to you sharply; she notices you're not paying attention. She slides her hands up and over your shoulders and starts rubbing your back. You let out a low grunt of satisfaction; you tend to hunch forward when you're working, and her long fingers are like needles cutting through the tension in your back. She allows a sly smile to flicker across her face. If you had turned around to look at her you’d see her teeth catch the light, you’d see that she’s taken her hair down and that there are dark bags beneath her eyes; she’s been staying up waiting for you to get done,  you know, but that knowledge took a back seat once you got in the zone.

Undyne can tell you’re not going to come to bed with her, and it’s with steely resignation in her voice that she asks you in a tone almost plaintive:

“You gonna come to bed with me?”

All calculated of course. That habitual contraction, slurring ‘going to’ together? So she doesn’t seem desperate and that, therefore, you don’t think she’s silly or – god forbid – getting dependent. That ‘with me’ at the end, curled up casually in a bid to belie the feverish need bordering on desperation she feels? Only to remind you that she’ll be in bed, wearing nearly nothing – for she makes a habit of sleeping just in her panties.

If Undyne were ever to let her guard down and tell you how she feels, she might say that she likes feeling you next to her while she’s sleeping. She’d say that feeling your hands around her waist or clasped lightly over her breast makes her feel small and gentle and protected, that she likes the way your breath comes and goes while you’re asleep and, moreover, she likes the way it feels on her neck. She likes the way you tuck your legs up to fit along the backs of hers, she likes the way that you get hard when you sleep and the way you grasp her breast tighter in the grip of some dream or another.  Beneath all her bluster she is shy to death, and you would never learn any of this from her. If she were to tell you, she would blush such a deep and enduring pink that she’d start to sweat, that the embarrassment would remain, no matter how fervently you told her it was alright, that it was cute. When she’s embarrassed she never manages to meet your eyes, and her voice grows into a husky growl, low and furtive and soft. She’ll flick her hair over her eye and hide there until you slide your hand across her forehead, tuck her red mane back in place behind her ear. She’ll look up at you grudgingly, meeting your eyes only for a second before she flicks her gaze away, rests instead on your hair, the tip of your nose, your cheeks. The only way to get her to stop is to kiss her, to run your tongue over her razored predator’s teeth. She’ll freeze for an instant, eyes wide, and then she sinks into you with gusto, she runs her hands over your back, sides, everywhere, and even if you try to pull away from her just to breathe for a moment, she won’t let you.

That would be if, of course, Undyne would ever be that honest with you. You can dream, you suppose. In the meantime, though, she’ll have to rely on subterfuge.

“Goodnight,” she kisses you, then pads out of the room, shutting the door behind her. You smell like her now, she’s left her scent all over you, and you raise your hand to your nose, sniff it, smile. Then it’s back to papers. This one is definitely a 91.

 

▪ ▪ ▪

 

Time passes. You hear the door open behind you, and you spin your chair around slowly, glance back. You manage to croak out half of a hearty “everything alright?” before you see Undyne and the words get lost somewhere on the way out of your mouth and they never make it. She’s there, leaning against the doorframe, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She must have only just gotten out of bed, she hasn’t put a shirt on or anything. As though by a force of gravity too strong for you to resist, your eyes are drawn downwards to her breasts. You try not to stare but you can’t help it. If you were paying attention to her face you’d see the corner of her lip twitch as she tries to bite back a smirk. She tugs at the waist of her panties absentmindedly, and they snap back a little lower than they were before. The peak of her fiery-orange pubic hair sprouts like an autumn bloom, and your eyes are drawn further downward.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she pouts, and with reluctance you drag your eyes back up to her face. She’s doing a very good job of controlling herself now, she just looks sleepy. If you could have seen her face as she laid there in bed, kicking her feet, waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass so she could come back to your office –

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Can I do anything to help?” She shrugs, content to be coy. You watch the way her breasts jiggle as she does. A soft reverberation on the skin of a pond, you think.

“Yeah,” she says. “Want to come keep me company?”

A bite of your lip. With a superhuman expenditure of effort you manage to gesture weakly to the pile of papers. “I’ve got to grade these,” you say. Her eye narrows, your only warning.

“That’s it!” she snaps, marching over to you and hoisting you out of the chair. She throws you over her shoulder and prances out of the room. On the way to the bedroom you try to explain that you really do need to grade those papers, that it won’t take too much time, really, but she won’t hear any of it. She shifts you closer to her to maintain her grip. From here you have a perfect view of her ass; the way it shifts as she lopes her way to the bedroom is already making you hard. She can feel you pressing against her upper arm and she smirks. “That was easy,” she thinks.

You reach down and grab her ass with both hands. She yelps and skids forward, almost dropping you. You laugh, but she tosses you into bed and pounces in after you. In a flash she has your clothes off and she’s pressed herself against you back-first. She wiggles her ass against your hardon seductively, and you reach down, pull her hips into yours. Her grin turns into a lip-biting grunt of pleasure as your other hand encircles her breast, running your finger across her hard nipple, and her hand slides agonizingly slowly down your stomach and into your boxers. Perhaps, you think to yourself, the papers can wait a little longer. Undyne glances back at you, slow smile showing miles of teeth. As her hand bobs faster, she whispers: “I win.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a reversal of that first story, in a sense. I think overall this is pretty decent but the one little quibble I have is that part in the middle where it's talking about the tone of Undyne's voice when she's trying to get 'you' to come to bed, I think I probably gave the wrong impression there. Rather than desperation, I think it'd be better if Undyne simply wanted 'you' to come to bed badly but was really playing it down so she doesn't SEEM desperate, not that she would in the first place. Actual desperation is just laying it on too thick; iirc that wasn't even what I really meant, I just couldn't think of a better word or something like that.
> 
> This was the first story where I started playing with the notion of Undyne's tough-girl personality being a sort of cover and compensation for her underlying fears and anxieties, but like in any other first attempt at something, I didn't get it quite right.


End file.
